


Loving You's Never Been Easy (But it's never been so hard)

by sailingtheLarryship



Series: Tell me you love me before you go (if you must go) [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 19! Harry, 25! Louis, AU, Football player! Louis, M/M, larry - Freeform, larry au, model! Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingtheLarryship/pseuds/sailingtheLarryship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three years together, Louis and Harry break up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving You's Never Been Easy (But it's never been so hard)

**Author's Note:**

> so, i've kind of had this hidden away for a while. I got the inspiration when I stumbled upon like all these amazing Larry manips on tumblr and idk, from then on it kind of just turned into this? I hope you like it, because i plan on making it somewhat of a series.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: For the purpose of this fic lets just pretend the Doncaster Rovers are like this amazing fucking football team :). And that basketball is a common sport in the UK. Also, some clarifications: in this fic Harry is the lead singer of an Indie band, that also consists of Niall and Liam. They're not mentioned in this one-shot but they will be in the ones that follow. Okay, 'tis all!

                     Louis is a busy man now days. So busy, he’s drenched in sweat and covered in dirt as he arrives for his photo shoot, though he should be washed and camera ready. Basically, he’s so busy he’s got no time to effectively transform into model Louis while he’s still busy being successful, outstanding, football player Louis. So why he’s stuck on his mobile, scrolling down Perez Hilton searching for headlines with the name “Harry Styles” in it as he’s walking into his photo shoot forty minutes late and completely unprepared, he’s got no idea. Because really, he has no time to waste. And if he did, he still shouldn’t be wasting it doing _that_.

                “Oh, Louis,” he looks up, because he knows that voice. It’s his best friend/modeling manager’s voice. It’s Zayn and although Louis expects him to look annoyed, distressed, maybe even a little disappointed, Zayn looks nowhere near any of those things. He looks calm. Too calm.

                Louis sticks his phone in his pocket, “I was caught up in traffic from the stadium to here,” he shrugs, because that’s the actual truth, and although maybe he should feel a bit more abashed and guilty for being so late, he’s quite frank when he thinks he’s not even either in the slightest.

                “It’s okay, mate. We’ll just get you washed up and ready, yeah?” Zayn wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulder hesitantly. And Louis isn’t sure if it’s because he’s dirty and sweaty and Zayn is always wearing something that costs more than Louis’ life’s worth, or because there’s something Zayn is trying to keep from Louis and he’s scared he’s being too obvious. Louis decides even If both are true, the second is more important to pay attention to.

                He moves away from Zayn and turns to narrow his eyes, “Okay, Malik. Enough. What is going on that you’re trying not to tell me?”

                Zayn looks like a deer caught in headlights and Louis knows he’s got him.

                “Louis, I’ve got no idea what you’re—”

                Louis puts out his hand, “Save it. I already know something’s up,” he turns on his heel, “and I’m going to guess that something’s got to do with Harry going to the same premiere I’m scheduled to attend this weekend,” he looks around the room, to all his hair and make-up designers, and they’re all trying to avoid his eyes, and he just knows he’s right. He smirks, though he’s really screaming inside, and turns back around to face Zayn.

                Zayn has a nervous smile on his face and Louis rolls his eyes, “It’s fine, Zayn. Really. Do you really think I’d care if Harry’s going to be there? Not at all. I’m there for business. Couple of photos, couple of conversations,” he swings his hand around the thin air, gesturing to nothing in particular, “It’s been two months, Zayn. If I’m still acting like a school girl because Harry is in the same vicinity as me, I’m an absolute mess. And when am I ever a mess, Malik?” he smiles, that brilliant Tomlinson smile that could convince anyone, maybe even himself, if it wasn’t for the absolute ache he feels in his chest at even the thought of seeing Harry, that he truly was over the whole ordeal. He keeps calm and collected as he walks away, grabs a towel, and heads for the shower.

                He keeps his head held high, his hips swaying, a smug smile on his lips until he’s in the bathroom, alone, and he doesn’t have to keep up the façade for anyone anymore. He lets himself sink down to the ground, and come to terms with how low he’s feeling. He’s been trying to keep himself busy, doing anything and going anywhere to avoid wallowing in self pity and loss. But now Harry’s going to one of the things he only agreed to attend to as another means to keep himself from being in his vast apartment all alone, and it just fucking pains him to know that Harry is really, and truly, in every aspect of his life.  He can’t escape him, and now he’s here letting tears spill while he’s locked up in a bathroom that isn’t his own and he’s actually supposed to be showering in. He hates Harry Styles so much.

                There’s a soft knock on the door and then, “Lou, we don’t have to do the photo shoot today”

                It’s Zayn and of course it is. Zayn knows Louis almost as well as Louis knows Louis. There was no way he was going to buy that whole ‘I’m the best and nothing hurts me show’ he just tried to put up in front of all those people. It was a good show, yes, and maybe everyone else bought it. But not Zayn.

                Louis sniffles, trying to hide the tears in his voice, “Of course we do, you doughnut. These photos are due in like two weeks. We both know if we postpone it, you won’t get it in on time”

                All of it is true, but Louis also doesn’t want to cancel because he doesn’t want anyone to get any ideas. Louis is a strong twenty-five year old man, who is not crying or depressing himself over his break-up with a nineteen year old, filthy hipster.  He’s stronger than that.

                There’s a pause and Louis almost starts crying again through the deafening silence.

                “Alright,” Zayn sighs, “how about some coffee after then?”

                Louis wipes his nose with the back of his hand, “Can’t. I’ve got to go over some plays with coach after this,” and though it’s true, it’s really just another thing on his list to keep busy and to keep from going out with Zayn to have _the talk_. Louis has been avoiding ‘the talk’ for two months, side-tracking Zayn with I-can’t-because’s even when there’s no actual because and he’s just sitting on his bed, reading stupid ,love novels Harry left lying around, and totally free to go get coffee. But Louis can’t have that talk. It’ll just break the last thread of dignity he’s holding on to.

                He doesn’t get a response and after about two minutes of waiting for one, Louis knows Zayn has walked away. He lets himself cry for another two minutes and then tells himself to stop, for so many reasons, but the most important one at the moment being he has photo shoot to go out and look fabulous in. He strips off his clothes and hops in the showering, melting away all his insecurities and pains with hot water.

 

 

**

                Louis has been doing good tonight. He’s posed for quite the number of pictures on the carpet, walked passed every reporter he’s seen, and gone straight to the fans chanting his name, asking for autographs. He likes doing that. He likes signing for his fans and taking pictures with them and seeing their faces light up at the mere sight of him. He likes feeling important. What he doesn’t like of course, is hearing some of his fans mention Harry. He ignores those fans, avoids having to go up to them and having them ask unneeded or unwanted questions.  If he wanted to answer those kinds of questions, he’d go up to the interviewers, ready and more than willing to talk to him and get the story out.

                “Make sure to avoid all interviews tonight,” Zayn was accompanying  Louis in the car ride to the premiere, taking advantage of it so that after they dropped off Louis, they could drop him off somewhere nearby where he was to meet someone. ‘On business’ he had said. ‘Such bullshit’ Louis had thought but not said out loud.

                Louis rolled his eyes and huffed, “I know, Zayn. I’m no amateur,” and then he was getting off, fixing his blazer as he was greeted with blinding flashes and an interviewer, the first of the night, who he so politely just smiled at and walked by without even a second glance.

                He knows how those interviewers work, is the thing. They start off casual, asking generic questions. And then, somewhere in those questions they’ll mention Harry, throw him in there with no kind of warning or sympathy. Louis cannot handle that tonight. He can’t handle being asked and poked and prodded with questions about Harry and Louis, when there really is no more Harry and Louis. Especially when Harry is here somewhere tonight and there’s a possibility that Louis might see him. Louis hasn’t seen him in two months. It’s been a long two months, the longest he’s gone without seeing Harry since they first ever met, the longest his life has ever felt to drag on for. And still, Louis’ not ready to let that streak end.

The movie starts a lot faster than Louis initially expects it to, and before he knows it he’s sat through half the movie already. He’s tried really hard to pay attention to it, to focus on solely on the film and nothing else. And although his eyes have been trained on the big screen before him, his mind has been somewhere very far away. It’s been on Harry, on where he is, where he’s sat, if he’s close to Louis, if he’s left. Louis hopes that maybe Harry has left. That he just came to make a quick appearance and then was off on his way.  Away from the premiere, away from the theatre, away from Louis.

                Louis asks the person at next to him how much of the movie is left before deciding whether it’s socially acceptable to get up to go to the bathroom. Amongst a lot of other things, he’s had the bathroom on his mind for quite some time now. He really has to pee. After the person besides him says that they’ve got about an hour left, Louis decides he needs to go the bathroom now, because he can’t hold it in much longer and it’ll be rude to get up right before the movie ends.

                Louis weaves his way through the crowd quietly, making sure not to disturb the people who came to really watch the movie. He checks his phone on his way over. He has no messages and it’s almost midnight. The last message he got was from Zayn, asking how it was going. Louis replied with a simple “ok” and then didn’t get anything in return, like he expected. He didn’t want anyone else pushing Harry further to the front of his mind.

                Louis walks into the bathroom with ease, until it suddenly becomes not so easy anymore. Until he realizes he’s not alone, that he’s got company, and it’s the worst kind of company.

                Harry and Louis lock eyes, for the first time in two months they’re staring right into each other, in complete silence. Inside, however, Louis is whaling. He’s rolling on the floor, he’s pounding his fists, he’s yelling at the top of his lungs. He’s begging himself to keep strong, to keep all his internal emotions concealed, to not crumble and fall apart right before Harry. He needs to be strong.  But of course, Harry would make it so hard, looking absolutely beautiful in his simple and so familiar attire: black skinnies, with a matching black blazer, and his white-heart Burberry shirt he’s torn the sleeves off of. And of course he looks so perfect with his stupid hair that he’s been saying he’s got to cut for the past six months and still hasn’t and his mesmerizing green eyes that have never looked a better shade of green than they do now. Louis wants to wreck him. He wants to fucking _destroy_ him and his pretty, little, hipster self.

                “Hi,” Harry finally says, and it comes out as a breathy whisper, barely audible. It pleases Louis a bit, to know Harry probably has as much self control as Louis does right now, and that’s not saying much at all.

                He nods, briskly, looking past Harry, trying to seem unaffected by his prominent presence. Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care if Louis notices Harry gawking over him, because his eyes stay on Louis the entire time Louis walks on over to the urinals. Louis can feel him, and he really wants to shake him off. Louis won’t be able to hold on much longer if Harry keeps piercing at him, with those eyes that Louis has missed so much, that Louis has tried not to cry over and failed so many times. He’ll break if Harry keeps staring at him like that. And he can’t break. Or so, he can’t be the first to break.

                “Funny seeing you here,” he turns slightly to Harry, not really looking at him but just his general direction, “alone”

                Harry takes a step forward and Louis steps right back around, facing the urinals once more.

                “Louis,” and no, he can’t take his lips falling from Harry’s lips so naturally like that.

                “I just really thought I’d see you here tonight with your friend,” Louis says quickly, maybe too quickly, but all he’s really focusing on is trying to push back all the emotion fluttering inside his chest, “I mean, you were always with him even when you already had someone. I figure you’d really be with him all the time now that you don’t,” and yeah, Louis thinks he can breathe again as he remembers all the wrong Harry did while they were together, all the wrongs that ripped them right apart.

                “Louis,” he hears again and then he feels a hand on his shoulder and he jumps, not expecting it or Harry to be so close. He backs away, as Harry looks at him a bit horrified, a bit hurt. Louis composes himself, running his fingers through his hour-long-styled hair. He picked up the habit from Harry, and even after two months, he hasn’t been able to get rid of it.

                “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” he feigns being scared, more than showing just how surprising it really was for Harry to reach out for Louis like that.

                Harry coughs into his hand and shakes his head, “no. I just—” he doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead he lets his eyes roam all over Louis, in adoration and lust. It’s a look Louis knows, and it finishes Harry’s sentence for him. Louis tries to ignore that, tries to ignore his body’s natural response to that, because he can’t do this. He’s been so good for two months, and he needs to make ‘til the end. Until Harry Styles is just a name and not a constant reminder of so much pain, and happiness, and loss.

                “So, no Nick?” he’s deflecting it, that stare and those feelings rising up his throat like vile.

                Harry sighs, “No Nick.”

                “Funny that”

                Harry takes another step forward and instantly, Louis steps back. Harry notices but doesn’t comment.

                “Me and Nick are just friends. Like we’ve always been,” Harry says calmly, sweetly. And Louis thinks he can go fuck himself.

                “Please,” he puts his hand out, “you don’t need to answer to me anymore. I really don’t care who you are or aren’t friends with,” he hopes it comes out convincing, but somehow, he’s sure Harry can read right through him. Harry knows every piece and bit of Louis, and it’s this moment, right here, right now, that Louis wishes he never gave all those pieces and bits to Harry. Because then it would be easy to convince Harry that Louis doesn’t care.

                “Well, in the case that it mattered, I’m not seeing anyone,” Harry takes another step forward and Louis can take no more steps back. His back is already pressed against the bathroom stall and he thinks this is sad metaphor for his life. Always corned by Harry Styles.

                “Good thing it doesn’t,” he gives Harry a sarcastic smile, before stepping around him and away from him, all the emotion he’s currently feeling making him forget about having to pee.

                He hears Harry coming after him and he wants so bad to just turn around and yell in his face that he doesn’t need him and he doesn’t want him following him around. But he does none of that.

                And then it comes, that stupid question that is so cliché and of course Harry would ask him, and of course he would do it in that small, gentle, voice, “how are you?”

                Louis feels like smashing his head against the mirror he’s currently looking back at himself in. That, along with blacking out, would be less painful than having this conversion with Harry.

                He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t think he can without completely losing all the control he has left, which isn’t much. He turns on the faucet, runs his hands through the warm water, and the ducks his head down to splash some of it across his face.

                It’s not until he’s looking back up into the mirror that he sees Harry standing beside him through the reflection. Harry doesn’t notice Louis looking at Harry, because Harry is too busy looking at Louis.

                “I miss you. So much,” Harry whispers and Louis breaks. He turns off the faucet forcefully, causing Harry to jump back.

                “Enough, Harry! Really,” he stomps over to get some towels to dry his face, “did you come here tonight only in hopes that you’d see me and then say some shit like that and have the past couple of months be forgotten?” he dries his face, crumbling the paper towel in his hand and then dunking it into the trashcan. He’s getting angry, so angry, and he has no idea how he’s not supposed to be with Harry saying things like that.

                Harry looks back at him solemnly. They stay quiet for a bit. Louis trying to regulate his breathes, and Harry’s looking at Louis without shame.

                “I just wanted to see you and—I don’t know. Maybe talk?” Harry rubs the back of his neck with his hand and Louis almost reaches to do the same. Until he catches himself, and he reminds himself he’s no longer Harry’s muse, he’s no longer his mirror.            

                “There’s nothing left for me to tell you, Harry. Shouldn’t you be doing something else? Like Nick, maybe?” and Louis doesn’t mean it. God knows he doesn’t mean it. Harry with Nick, in any kind of way, is the last thing Louis wants. But he needs to fuel his anger so his sadness doesn’t seep through. And Harry and Nick, together, make him very angry.

                Harry’s hand drops, and his face turns rigid.

                “I don’t know how many times I have to clarify to you that me and Nick are _just_ friends. Friends and nothing more. Like you and Zayn,” Harry says and Louis laughs, because that is so far from the truth it’s hard not to find it amusing.

                “Oh, yes. Friends like me and Zayn. Except Zayn hasn’t been pinning for me for the past year and a half or so. Nor has he ever disrespected my significant other, publicly, and never have I just let that go. And never has Zayn _ever_ , again publicly, tried to hook me up with someone else while he’s so clearly aware that I already have a someone by my side,” Louis scoffs.

                “I stuck up for you, every single time. And I told him to stop with that, with teasing you on the radio and to stop with being absolutely disrespectful to our relationship by attempting to hook me up with other celebrities. He did, and when he did, I saw no reason to just stop being friends with him,” Harry defends, and Louis already wants to hit him like he does every single other time they’ve had this argument, “especially when we were miles apart, and I was bored at home waiting for you to call or text, while you were out celebrating with your boys,” he finishes, and Louis thinks that if Harry’s trying to calm the waters, he’s doing a damn awful job.

                “Maybe we wouldn’t have had that slight problem if you would’ve just agreed, or at least thought about agreeing, to move in with me,” Louis can hear his voice rising, he can hear all those petty insecurities coming to shore.

                “You always expected me to just drop everything for you. London is where the band is, it’s where my career stands. I can’t just drop it and go off with you to Doncaster, or wherever elsewhere, because it fits _your_ needs, _your_ career. What about me? What about my career?” Harry isn’t yelling in the slightest, but Louis can tell by the way his face is going all red that he too is angry. Louis thinks good, he shouldn’t be the only one getting worked up.

                “That’s an old and lame excuse, Harry, and you know it. I would’ve moved with you to London, I even told you so myself. But you didn’t even want that”

                Harry looks away a moment, and that pain of realization that Louis is right hits Louis so hard. Harry can’t even deny it.  He can’t even tell Louis he’s wrong. Because Louis is not wrong.

                “I couldn’t just ask you to move away from your city, your team. It’s not fair to you,” Harry says, and it’s exactly what he’s always said.

                “No, Harry. You know what wasn’t fair to me? Having me wait around for you for three years,” Louis sneers and then Harry’s looking at Louis so intently, Louis explodes, letting it all come out, every emotion, every insecurity.

                “Three years, Harry. Three years and you didn’t even want to move in with me. Three years and when I’d talk about adoption all you’d say was, ‘it isn’t the time.’ When was it finally going to be time, Harry? Three fucking years and there was never a sign that you wanted to start a life with me,” Louis is angry now. He’s not even trying to conceal it for his better judgment. He’s full blown, balled-first, flaring nostrils, cursing-because-why-not, angry.  And if Harry wasn’t still the love of his pathetic life, he’d split his pretty face in two.

                “You wouldn’t marry me,” Harry says calmly, because yeah, that’s Harry. Louis has always been the one to flip his shit when they get intro arguments. It seems that even when they’re no longer together, they’re still playing the same roles. If Louis was a fool, looking at them just now, he’d think nothing has changed.

                “What is with you and getting married?” Louis throws his hands up, so obviously tired of Harry throwing back the same argument to counter all of Louis’.

                “What’s with you and _not_ getting married?” Harry mimics him.

                They stare at each other, not saying anything again. They’ve done that a lot since they’ve been in this bathroom. Louis eventually sighs, because he’s so exhausted of having the same fight over and over again.  It doesn’t matter where they have it. In a bathroom, in Harry’s flat, in Louis’ flat, it always ends up the same, with no resolution. Louis and Harry don’t have any more resolutions between them, which is why Louis ended it. And yet, he still loves Harry so much, he thinks his heart depends on him to keep beating.

                “I’m leaving,” Louis announces, turning on his heel to walk out. That’s when Harry says it.

                “No, Louis. Tell me why you wouldn’t marry me. Tell me what has you so scared of just, of just making a promise to spend the rest of your life with me. What is it? Is it your mom and her marriages? Because Louis, you are not your mom—”

                And then Louis is turning around, pointing a finger right at Harry with such vigor, and the words come tumbling out with just as much, “fuck off! Fuck right off, Harry!”

                Louis is so angry he’s panting, and for the first time tonight, Harry is backing away from Louis while Louis is walking towards him, “you think you know so fucking much about marriage and love, Harry but you know fucking _nothing_ about it. I would’ve given you the world, Harry. All that and much more,” and now it’s Louis’ turn to pick on Harry’s insecurities, “but you’re just a fucking nineteen year old, kid. A kid, who’s got this ancient idea up in his hipster, rotting, mind that marriage is the almighty do all, end all. When really, marriage means just as much as the paper it’s written on. It’s people _like you_ that fuck it up for the rest of us. That think that marriage is so powerful, it’s the only thing that can measure eternal love. Guess what, kid? It doesn’t. People end up suffering all kinds of abuse, and hating each other because they get married, thinking that if they do get married their love will withstand everything. Haha, jokes on them, because _marriage doesn’t equal love_. It never has and it never will. And that’s why I wouldn’t marry you, Harry. Because you’ve got your head so far up those stupid novel’s that you read asses, that you’re oblivious to the fucking truth. And I don’t want to marry someone who’s so naïve”

                By the time Louis is done, he’s got Harry cornered, his back digging into the sink. That’s not the only thing Louis’ got. He’s also got tears brimming up in Harry eyes, and he realizes just then all of what he’s said, all of what he’s done. He’s wounded Harry intentionally, and he’s done a really good job at it. Somehow, that doesn’t weigh lightly on Louis’ chest.

                “You know what, Louis?” some tears spill from Harry’s eyes, and he wipes away at them quickly, “I may be a nineteen year old _kid_ who’s a bit old fashioned and naïve with his ideas about love, but I’ll grow out of that. You on the other hand, you’ll always just be this twenty-five year old, bitter, and withered away man, that will never end up happy because his only defense is spiteful words and overused sarcasm”

                If Louis had any words left to say, Harry wouldn’t have heard them, because just then he runs out on Louis, leaving Louis all alone. He begs himself not to cry, he begs himself not to cry. And it renders useless, because within seconds he’s crying, and rushing into one of the stalls to cry some more. He cries for about an hour, he guesses, until someone comes barging into the men’s bathroom, talking about how great the ending of the movie was.

 

**

                Louis is pathetic. He’s a pathetic asshole who’s made little to no progress in what he calls ‘the Harry Recovery’ (that really just constitutes of him getting over Harry to no avail) in the past month. It’s been exactly a month today that Louis last saw Harry. It’s been exactly a month today that Louis told Harry all the things he didn’t mean, and made Harry cry and run out on him, never taking a second look back. Harry will never know how much Louis didn’t mean most of what he said, because Louis was too stubborn and prideful to contact Harry and apologize after. But Louis wishes Harry could just know that if Louis thought it fit to marry anyone, it would be Harry. It will always be Harry. Louis is just scared is all. That’s all it’s ever been. A big fear that is stuck to marriage and an even bigger fear that swallows him whole that is stuck to, specifically, Louis and Harry getting married.  The problem is Louis’ never been good at expressing himself, getting the right points across. So, whenever he’s tried to explain that fear to Harry, it comes out more like a ‘marrying you is the most ridiculous thought I’ve ever had’ and yeah, Louis can see why that could be slightly upsetting.

                Louis thinks about all of this while downing his favorite bottle of white wine and looking at his favorite, framed, picture of Harry and him. It’s about two years old, taken when Louis was twenty-three and Harry only seventeen. It was him and his team’s first big victory, and he had been so happy to have Harry there for that win. He remembers being nervous about the whole thing, but thinking it was about time he came out with it anyway. People were already speculating, and he wasn’t ashamed at all of letting the world know Harry was his and he was Harry’s. He never had been, but when Louis first met Harry he was newly twenty-two and Harry was late sixteen, but still sixteen nonetheless. He was unknown, unrecognizable in the streets to any walking pedestrian, and so Harry had no idea how cruel the media could be. But Louis did, Louis had every idea of how awful and misconstrued the media could turn his and Harry’s relationship. He could always see how people would call it inappropriate. Harry was so young, and age gaps never rested well with the world. But it wasn’t just one dimensional, like the world saw things, and all Louis ever tried to do was protect Harry from getting lost in all that negativity.

Louis understood the world’s worry, but didn’t agree. Yes, Harry was young, but Louis never like he was too young for him. Harry was always more mature for his age, and in all honesty, Louis was always less mature for his age. They just went together so well. And the moment Louis met Harry all he could think about was how pretty he was, how interesting, and how much he just wanted to lose himself in him. So, he did.

                That day, the day of the match, Louis ran up to Harry at the end, after his team had proclaimed victory, all smiles and radiating happiness. And Harry was beaming just as bright. Louis grabbed for Harry’s hand, muttering a meek “trust me,” which was all it took for Harry to put his hand in Louis’. Then they walked off to the middle of the field together, Louis speaking into his mic, thanking the people in the stadium for coming to support him and his team, and then introducing Harry as his boyfriend, telling the people in the crowd that he hoped they could be just as supportive of his relationship too. Louis never hid his sexuality, not even though some of his managers at the time when he entered the league suggested he should. He was never ashamed of it, and so, he never kept it secret. However, Louis didn’t date seriously, and so, introducing Harry as something very serious, was surprising to not only himself, but to many people. It was special. And that’s what Harry was to Louis. Special.

That’s when the photo was snapped. Since then, Louis’ treasured it. It’s one of their best memories, and their first outing as a couple. It had all just been perfect, straight off a fairytale. As much as Louis wishes he could forget it, he also wishes he never does.

                The image before him starts to blur as tears pool around his eyes. He just misses them so much. But not the them that they became in the last months or so. He misses the them that were so hopelessly in love and so stupidly happy with each other. He misses the them that was simple, and beautiful, and life changing.

                He’s about to just lose it, let himself cry like he’s five and just fallen off his bike and scarped his knee, when he hears a hard knock on his door. He jolts up, in surprise at anyone coming around at this time. He’s a bit hazy, from all the white wine, and his face is wet from the tears he didn’t even notice had run down already, bundled up in an oversized sweater that doesn’t belong to him, and nothing else.

                He collects himself quickly, putting down his empty glass of wine and putting, face-down, the picture of him and Harry on his coffee table. He pats down his sweater, so it covers up the necessary even though he’s not planning on actually opening the door, seeing as he wants to be alone. However, he at least has to sound fine enough and compose himself enough for the person in the other side of the door to go away. Whoever it may be.

                He walks on over calmly, when another loud and abrupt knocks fills his silent living room, and he has no patience for the stranger causing a ruckus on his doorstep at this unruly hour. He rushes over to his door to look through his peep hole. The face isn’t seen, it’s looking down, the person’s head resting on his forearm prompted up against Louis’ door. But Louis could recognize that head of hair anywhere.

                “Harry?” Louis questions, because he has no idea what Harry is doing on his door step. He thinks this is God playing games with him.

                “Louis,” Harry groans, and Louis automatically knows by the sound of his voice alone that Harry is fairly drunk. And he really shouldn’t let him in, because drunk Harry along with buzzed Louis is bound to end terribly, but he can’t just leave him out there, in front of his door step, on his own on a pretty cold night. He’s opening his door before he can think of a better option.

                Harry stumbles in and Louis reaches out to catch him and save him from falling face flat on the floor. And then, without any kind of warning, Harry looks up and crashes his lips to Louis’. And quickly, Louis pushes Harry right off, because that is so not right. And again, without any kind of explanation, Harry is bending over and throwing up on Louis’ floor.

                Louis steps back, looking at Harry in complete disbelief. In just about a minute, Harry has managed to sober Louis up.

                “What the _fuck_ , Harry?”

                Harry’s bent over, his hand on his knees, as he spits out the last bit of vomit stuck in his mouth. His eyes are glassy and red, and his hair, along with the rest of him, is a complete mess. Louis should be disgusted, but he’s truly not. Not even one bit.

                Harry tries to straighten up and stumbles a bit, Louis moves in to grab him until Harry manages to get to the wall and hold himself up with it. Louis is really dying to know about just how fucking much Harry had to drink tonight. Louis hasn’t seen Harry so smashed since his eighteenth birthday, when he was finally legal and Louis threw a big birthday bash with lots of drinks for him. Even then, Harry wasn’t this bad. Louis also desperately wants to know who is responsible for letting him get this bad too. So he can knock their teeth out. He hopes it’s Nick. He’ll finally have an excuse to break his fucking nose.

                “I kissed someone tonight,” Harry breathes roughly through his nostrils, his eyes shutting and his face contorting into discomfort, while Louis’ heart sinks to the ground and the sound of his words, “and I—I’ve got no idea _why_ , Louis. Because, just no. I can’t kiss someone else. I don’t _want_ to kiss anyone else. I needed, I need, _your_ lips to be the last on mine,” just then Harry sinks to the ground, crying out mercilessly as he does, like a child who has just learned his parents have passed away and understands the absolute meaning of that. And Louis knows he needs to set his feelings aside for a moment, and take care of Harry, because if he doesn’t, no one else will, and Harry will be this unrecognizable mess that Louis really doesn’t like.

                He rushes over to him, and hauls him up, while Harry makes it no easier for him and just cries into his shoulder.

                “Harry, please. It’s okay,” and it’s not okay, because Louis feels completely shattered and broken about how he was sitting down in his couch only minutes ago, with a picture of him and Harry, in Harry’s sweater, while Harry was out, getting piss drunk, and kissing someone else. But he can’t say anything to him now, because as much as he wants to hate him, he can’t. He loves him, and seeing him break down this way is only hurting Louis more.

                He struggles, but eventually Louis gets Harry upstairs and has Harry stripped down to the core, in his master bedroom’s bathroom, ready to get into the tub of hot water Louis has prepared for him. The moment should feel more erotic, seeing as Harry is naked and all and Louis can barely control himself around Harry when he’s fully clothed. But with Harry barely conscious, all Louis can do is worry and all he can think about is getting Harry sobered up enough to get to bed safely.

                Louis helps Harry in to the tub, trying his best to keep all of Harry’s weight up so Harry won’t slip and fall in his bath tub as he does. By the time Harry is perfectly positioned, Louis has wet his sweater and he knows he won’t be able to sleep in it tonight like he planned. It’s a small detail, but still something that catches Louis’ attention. If there are plans involved, Harry always comes right along and changes them.

                He bathes Harry, really just soaking his hair in warm water and rubbing a loofah up and down his body for comfort. Harry hums in appreciation and for some time Louis forgets why he’s so upset with him. Then he remembers that Harry kissed someone else, another detail to add to their long list of problems, and he hurries in getting him in some pajama’s Harry left behind three months ago, and tucked into bed.

                Louis lets Harry have the master bed, thinking Harry will need it more than Louis tonight. As he goes to turn off the lamp night, Harry reaches out for him and makes a small noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a whine. He wants Louis to stay, but that’s one thing Louis can’t do.

                Louis places a soft kiss on Harry’s forehead, that nearly splits him in two right then and there, and with a shaky voice whispers, “Goodnight.”

                Harry groans, but is too sleepy and under the weather to properly argue or try to convince Louis to stay. So, as Harry drifts off into sleep, Louis slips off Harry’s sweater, throwing it over his hamper, and changes into some of his own clothes before slipping out of the room. 

                He tries not to cry himself to sleep while he’s curled up in his couch all alone, but it’s no use. He has no idea at what time he goes to bed.

**

                Louis is up early the next morning, brewing tea as he tries to run over the various scenarios in his head that can occur once Harry wakes up. He’s pretty sure Harry’s going to have tons of questions and Louis is not sure whether he’ll be able to answer any of them at all. He sighs heavily, silently hurrying his tea to be ready soon. Tea is his therapy. It’s the only thing that makes the ruckus of the world seem calm, if only for the five minutes that it takes for Louis to down it.

                He bends over his counter, and rests his head in between his hand, feeling absolutely miserable in every sense of the word.  He’s lost in his mind, doesn’t even feel Harry come in. In return, he is completely caught off guard and pretty spooked when he hears Harry clear his throat behind him.

                He turns around quickly to drink in the sight of a Harry he hasn’t seen in a long time. Sleepy, hung over, morning Harry. Just then, Louis’ tea is ready and he thanks God that it is.

                He walks on over to his tea pot, grabbing two cups from his cupboard, “want some tea?”

                “Yeah, sure,” Harry responds groggily, “thanks.”

                Louis just nods, pouring enough tea to fill both cups. He walks on over to where Harry’s sat on a stool by his island, and he hands Harry’s tea over to him. Harry smiles, very weakly. Louis tries not to stare at him too long, tries to look at anything else in the room to let the moment pass. If he can have it his way, for once, they’ll just act like last night never happened and pretend Harry ended up here by something much easier to explain. He thinks it’s almost over, the conversation practically buried, and then Harry speaks.

                “I’m really sorry about last night. I—don’t remember much of it, but I know you took care of me,” he looks at Louis through his tea and lashes, “so, thank you,” he says softly.

                Louis feels a lump of emotion form in his throat and he swallows it down with some tea before replying, “yeah, no problem.”

                It’s a problem, a really big problem. It’s such a problem Louis’ got no idea how to deal with it, but he ignores that. For now.

                They’re silent again, drinking their tea. Louis should be happy Harry is being so easy about the whole thing like he wanted seconds ago, but a restless uneasiness is still settling before him and before he can control it he’s blurting out, “was it Nick? Is Nick the one you kissed?”

                Harry almost spits his tea out, and Louis’ heart is about to bleed out with the lack of immediate denial, and then Harry hurriedly answers, “no, no. God, no, Louis,” he shakes his head and swallows the tea still in his mouth, while Louis feels so, so much better but tries not to show it.

                “It was—”

                Louis interrupts him, “no, it’s okay. I don’t want to know. I just, I didn’t want it to be Nick is all,” he turns away from Harry, walking over to the sink to busy himself with something. Not even his tea can help him out this morning. He goes for washing the dishes he left in the sink last night. It’s just a plate and his wine glass, but it’s something.

                “It didn’t mean anything,” he hears Harry say, “I was just so drunk, and so angry at everything, and I—I messed up,” his voice cracks and Louis warns himself to not turn around.

                “Just forget it, okay? You can do whatever you want, Harry. You’re,” he clears his throat before finishing, “single,” and it dawns on him that the accuracy of his statement is spot on. Harry is single, and so is Louis. And if Harry wanted to go out and kiss somebody, even if that somebody was Nick, Louis really has no right to hold it against him.

                He hears the scrap of the chair against his floor and he knows Harry is walking over to him. He’s almost done with his wine glass, washing terribly slow even for Louis.

                Louis can feel Harry standing next to him, a few steps away, watching as Louis rinses and repeats, “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

                Louis doesn’t want to keep it going. He doesn’t think he has it in him to.

                “How’d you get here anyway? Doncaster is a long drive from London,” Louis says, choosing to ignore Harry’s apology and talk about something completely unrelated.  He wants to avoid it, and he will try the best he can.

                “I took a bus, I think. I just remember knowing where I wanted to go and that there was only one place I wanted to be, that I needed to get to. That was here, with you”

                Louis curses Harry in his mind, for not letting the topic be put aside, and for being so damn good with his words,. Of course he is, Louis reminds himself, he’s a fucking writer for an Indie band for Christ’s sake.

                “Well, I’ll drive you back if you want,” Louis offers, not wanting to drown in the poetry that is Harry Styles.

                “I can take the bus back,” Harry replies, something different in his tone this time around. Louis doesn’t dare look over.

                “I already told you I can take you. No big deal,” Louis says again and maybe it’s not the smartest thing to offer, but Louis really doesn’t want Harry taking the bus again. It’s an easy place for celebrities like Harry to get mobbed and abused on.

                “Thanks,” Harry replies.

                Louis finishes up his two dishes in silence, taking a lot longer than necessary. Once he’s done, he wipes his hands with his kitchen towel and turns, to find Harry unbearably close. He looks up, while Harry looks down at Louis, looking at all of him. Louis feels frozen.

                “You were wearing my sweater yesterday,” Harry’s eyebrows crease, like he’s trying to remember whether or not that actually happened or if he just dreamt it.

                “Don’t act as if you don’t know that I miss you,” Louis manages to say, though it comes out weaker than he wishes it had. He hates that even though he’s been avoiding conversation like this all morning, he’s falling into it right now like he never had been.

                “After the last time I saw you, I wasn’t so sure,” Harry says, and Louis can tell he’s being honest and not trying to bring up a tainted memory to spite Louis.

                Louis sighs, “Harry—”

                Harry cups his face then with his hand, and without thinking about it, Louis nuzzles into his touch, because it just feels so right and Louis has needed it for so long.

                “I miss you too,” Harry whispers, leaning in closer to Louis.

                Louis closes his eyes, his momentary peace disrupted when he realizes just what is happening. He opens them swiftly, to see Harry impossibly close, and he knows that this has gone too far already.

                Gently, he removes Harry’s hand from his face, and takes a step away from him.

                “No, Harry”

                “But, Louis. Please—”

                “No, Harry,” Louis says a lot more sternly this time, a lot more sternly than he thought he could, “this isn’t right, Harry. What exactly will it change?” Harry stays silent, and although it’s the response Louis wants, he still feels his limbs go numb.

                “Exactly. Nothing,” he tries his best to keep his voice stern, “Nothing will change, and no one will be happy when you go back home and I stay here, and we don’t text or call or anything until another month passes and one of us cracks and shows up at the other’s door step drunk,” and though the words aren’t supposed to be rough, Louis guesses they come out that way, because Harry looks hurt.

                “I’m sorry, Harry,” he starts once he notices Harry’s face fall, “I’m not trying to—I’m not trying to hurt you, okay? I’m just,” he wants to bring up age, say that he’s too old for all the back and forth but he thinks that’s a low blow, and that’s not what he’s aiming for, “tired,” he ends up settling for that,  “Tired of going around in this circle with you. I love you, yeah, but let’s face it, Harry. You and I aren’t meant to be. We want different things and neither of us is willing to accommodate to the other,” it’s the gentles way Louis has said it thus far, and he’s quite proud of himself for that, because it really just makes him frustrated and angry that he loves Harry so much, and yet he’s not meant to end up with him. So angry that he always ends up explaining it the wrong way.

                “You really don’t think we’re meant to be?” Harry asks, his hands balled into fists at his sides, clenching and unclenching. Louis knows he’s made him mad, but Louis thinks Harry deserves to know the truth. As much as Harry would like to be Louis’ soul mate, the kind he reads about in those books of his, he’s not.

                “Yeah,” Louis looks away from Harry.

                “There’s that then,” Louis hears Harry walk away from him, and then Louis’ eyes are following Harry across the room, “let me know when you’re ready to drive me. I’m going to get my stuff ready,” are the last words they exchange, even when Louis drives Harry home.

 

**

                “I’m glad you finally decided to take me up on that coffee,” Zayn says, smirking over the steam coming up from his cup.

                Louis rolls his eyes, lifting his own cup to his mouth, “yeah, well, I stopped coming up with excuses to blow you off”

                It’s been three weeks since Harry came stumbling into Louis’ flat, drunk and a straight mess. Three weeks since Louis told Harry he truly felt as if they weren’t meant to be and Harry didn’t speak a word to him after, scowling the whole ride home. They haven’t spoken since then, and Louis is okay with that. Louis is feeling better about the whole thing now days. Not good, not anywhere near good, but better. There’s not a huge hallow in his chest when he thinks of Harry. Just an overwhelming sadness, along with some tears. But at least it’s not all the time, and Louis is letting himself indulge in things that he actually likes, like coffee with Zayn, instead of just things that make him busy. He thinks it’s progress, and he’s finally coming to terms with the unfulfilling ending written for Harry and Louis.

                “Well since your back from God knows where,” Zayn puts down his coffee, “I’ve got something to tell you,”

                Louis leans in, “you’re secretly in love with me and have been since we were kids? Get a new story, Malik. I already knew that,” he smiles, a small smile, but a genuine one.

                Zayn rolls his eyes dramatically, “obviously,” and he opens his mouth to speak once more when Louis puts a hand up to stop him, hearing a familiar name being mentioned through the coffee shop’s speakers.

                “And here it is, Painted Roses’ new single, ‘Something Great’,” before Louis can turn his attention away, realizing it’s the name of Harry’s band he’s just recognized, the soft music fills the coffee shop and Harry’s voice comes through so easily, filling all of Louis and Louis feels like he’s made no progress at all once again. He listens to all of it, word by word, and he can tell Harry wrote it. Not because it’s brilliant and absolutely lovely, but because Louis can relate it to them perfectly, like it was written _for_ them, like if Harry was standing right in front of him telling him the words himself. Louis thinks he’s not going absolutely crazy thinking it is for him.

                He finally looks at Zayn, who looks both pleased and slightly amazed.

                “Wow,” is all he says.

                 Louis clears his throat, “yeah. Good single,” he picks up his coffee, “what was it you wanted to tell me?” he doesn’t want to think about the song too much, or at all, though he’s already got the parts that stuck out to him the most replaying in his head, and he hopes Zayn can provide a distraction. But if he knows Zayn at all, he knows Zayn won’t just drop it like that.

                “Look, Louis, I didn’t come here to have _the talk_ ,” he starts, and Louis is reminded of why he avoided Zayn and coffee for so long.

                Louis grunts, “but we’re about to have _the talk_ , aren’t we?”

                “Well, after a song like that, do you really think _the talk_ can still be put off?” Zayn raises his eyebrows, and Louis knows Zayn is absolutely right.

                He puts down his coffee, puts his elbows on the table, and hides his face in his hands.

                “I’m twenty-five years old. Why is my life so much like a teenage soap opera?” Louis rhetorically questions, but of course, Zayn answers.

                “Because you’re melodramatic, mate”

                Louis puts his hands down, coming out from hiding, and looks at Zayn hard, biting off a smile.

                “Hey!” Louis whines.

                “It’s true, mate!” Zayn says, a small smile on his face too. They share a small chuckle between the both of them, until the atmosphere dies down and they’re serious again. Louis’ looking out the window, and Zayn is looking at Louis.

                “You are melodramatic, Louis. Especially with the whole you and Harry thing”

                Louis turns to look at him, “Zayn,”

                “It’s true, Louis. I’ve known you almost all my life, when you were fifteen and scared of telling your mum you were gay and when you were twenty-one getting your first football contract. Shit, I even knew you when you ‘dated’ Ben, and thought he was the guy you were going to end up spending the rest of your life with, although he was ten years over your age and our lit teacher,” Zayn shudders and Louis laughs because, yeah, that happened.

                “And I knew you three years ago when you first met Harry, and I know you three years after now when you’re no longer with Harry. Louis, in those three years that you were with Harry, you embraced who you are so much more than I’ve ever seen you do. It was one of the many reasons I encouraged your relationship with him, because trust me, the age thing was weird for me at first,” Zayn admits, “but, I was able to forget all about it, seeing how open you were with yourself, how happy and joyful you were around everyone and about everything. As your best mate, and manager, there’s nothing more that I wanted for you and that I still want for you. Which is why I’m advising you, Louis, to reconsider everything you’ve tried to get yourself to believe these past couple of months about you and Harry. Face your fears, mate. Whatever they are, face ‘em. Don’t just throw what the two of you have away because of them. You two have something special, something that is only written about, and not actually experienced. No amount of fear is worth losing that over,” Zayn has always been so eloquent, and because of that, he’s always been the one to easily convince Louis of everything, have him backtracking on his original mindsets. Louis knows this time is no different.

                Louis sighs heavily, and looks out the window again, “he wants me to marry him, Zayn, but I,” he rubs his temples, because all of this stressing out and non-stop thinking is making his head ache, “I don’t know if I can do that. Not because, like, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with him? Because I do. But more like,” he searches for the right words that somehow come a lot easier to him when he’s with Zayn than when he’s with Harry, “I’ve seen what marriage can do to people.  I saw it with my mom and dad. People get married and then all of a sudden their relationships becomes all about that. It becomes all about a stupid title and not about anything else. All of a sudden all the arguments start with and end with, ‘but you’re my husband’ and I just don’t ever want Harry to just see me as his husband, to the point where It makes us unhappy. It was already making us unhappy, just talking about it” he groans, “Am I making any sense?”

                Louis looks at Zayn, feeling the world falling down around him, while Zayn looks back at him with a complete bland expression. Sometimes Louis wishes he was more in control of his emotions like Zayn is with his. Things would be a lot easier to handle.

                “Yes, but you’re shit at explaining yourself,” Zayn jokes and Louis does something that’s a cross between laughing and crying. He rests his head on the table, hoping that by shutting his eyes all the answers will magically just come to him.

                “Look Louis,” Zayn reaches for his hand and Louis picks his head up a bit, “I’m no Dr. Phil, and I don’t really have the right kind of advice for you. All I know is, everything you just told me, you should be telling Harry. I know you feel like you can explain things better to me, but you’ve still got to try with Harry. If not, you won’t be happy, and neither will he. Because you won’t be with him and he’ll spend the rest of his days thinking you didn’t marry him because you just didn’t want to, because he wasn’t it for you” and Louis knows Zayn is right, like he always fucking is, because Louis is pretty sure Harry is already thinking that after everything Louis has told him in the past months. But Louis is such a coward, he’s a coward and he’s more scared of love than he’d like to admit.

                “What am I supposed to do, Zayn? We haven’t even spoken in like three weeks,” it’s true but an excuse. Zayn is aware of both.

                “You find a way to speak to him. It’s not that hard, Louis. It’s the twenty-first century. If you’re not comfortable contacting him through mobile, there’s always email,” Zayn smirks, like the bastard he is.

                Louis picks up his head, shaking it, “damn you, Malik”

                “You’ll thank me someday,” Zayn shrugs.

                Louis doesn’t know whether he ever will thank Zayn, because at this point in time, he’s got no idea how everything will end up between him and Harry. As soon as Louis thinks he’s outwitted fate, it comes back and surprises him.

                He shakes off his thoughts, noticing he’s not quite done with coffee and neither is Zayn and so they still have some time left to spend together. He’d rather spent that time _not_ talking about him and Harry. That talk was enough of a talk to last him for a while, he thinks. He’ll figure it out. All of it. Soon enough.

                “So,” he picks up his cup, “what was it you originally wanted to tell me? Something about being in love with me?”

                Zayn smiles, but doesn’t meet Louis’ eyes, “it can wait”

                And unlike Zayn, Louis doesn’t push. Just enjoys the rest of the time engaging in meaningless conversation and playful banter. Louis wishes things could be so simple all the time.

 

**

                Louis is laying down in his bed, looking straight up to his popcorn ceiling that has never looked so interesting. He’s got court side seat tickets in one hand and his phone in the other. It’s been two weeks since he’s had coffee with Zayn and since then, all he can do is think about what he wants to do about him and Harry, what he’s _meant_ to do about him and Harry.

 Before then, Louis had settled it: he was to move on from Harry, as painful as that was, and find someone who suited his needs while he let Harry do the same. But then Zayn came along and made him rethink everything and now here is Louis, helplessly in bed contemplating almost all of his life decisions, and one in particular at the moment that can really just screw everything up. Screw it up even further than he’s already done all on his own.

He groans real loud and rolls over on his front, burying his face in his pillow. He feels so dumb, like he’s fifteen again and pinning for Ben. But Louis is not fifteen anymore. He’s a proper adult and he’s going to act like it.

He lifts his head, “okay, Tomlinson, enough. No more sulking. You either pick up that phone and call Harry _right now_ or you stay doing exactly this all day,” he sternly tells himself. He looks around for a moment, from his left hand to his right.

“Oh fuck it,” he finally decides, sitting right up and dialing quickly (even after four months of not dialing the number he can recall it without over thinking), and pressing call before he can think anything of it. He brings the phone to his ear, brave and twenty-five, not shy and fifteen. Until he hears the other line ring and he immediately feels small again. He yelps and falls down back into his pillows, burying his face deep into them.

It rings for some time and Louis thinks Harry is about to save him all on his own by not picking up until,

“Louis?” and yeah, Louis pretty much loses all his confidence right then and there.

“Hi,” he muffles out, realizing his face is still buried in his pillows. He quickly turns on his back and says again, a lot more clearly, “hey”

“Oh,” Harry says after a couple of seconds, “Hi. Is everything okay?”

“Did you think I dialed the wrong number?” Louis asks right away, Harry’s small ‘oh’ not getting past him. Louis doesn’t think any small detail about Harry _can_ get past him.

There’s a shuffle on the other line, “um, I guess. Yeah, a bit”

Louis’ heart swells and for the first time since their break up, Louis realizes all the hurt and damage he has caused Harry too. So much so that Harry is so shell-shocked that Louis would just as much call. As if Louis would never just call just because, because Louis doesn’t care enough to. It hurts to think Louis is responsible for Harry thinking that way.

“Did I call at a bad time?” is all Louis ends up saying, instead of telling Harry how much he’s been wanting to do just this, call Harry, and hear his lovely voice even if just through a phone call, to try and fix some of the wrong he’s done.

“No, no. Not at all. I actually just got home from the gym,” Harry replies, softly, and all Louis can picture is sweaty, shirtless Harry, and he feels hot just at the thought. He tries to control himself, knowing he didn’t call for some phone sex. Though he wishes, oh he wishes, he knows there are more important things to attend to.

Louis swallows, “oh okay. How was that?”

Louis hears Harry quietly laugh on the other line and in seconds Louis mood changes. Louis doesn’t feel so stiff or on edge. He feels giddy and before he can stop himself, he’s smiling at the sound.

“Did you really call me to ask me about my work out?” Harry says, a teasing tone to his voice, and then Louis is brought back to their conversation and why he called at all, his mood shifting once more.

Louis coughs a bit, “no”

And Louis knows what’s coming next.

“Then … why did you call? Not that I mind, at all. I just—I’m curious. Last time we spoke, um, well. You know”

Louis inhales sharply, because of course he knows. And he wants to make it right because that was all wrong. That’s why he’s calling. Louis closes his eyes, “I,” he pauses. Louis wants to ask Harry to come out with him tonight, it’s the reason he called, but he’s nervous, and still unsure of whether he should.

There are so many repercussions to this, to asking Harry out with him when they’re supposed to be broken up and not meant to be, and Louis knows that. But there are also a lot of consequences that Louis doesn’t know if he can handle if he doesn’t ask. He’ll always live in fear, never know whether him and Harry were truly a careless mistake, or that was the excuse Louis used to play it safe. Louis doesn’t know what is worth more. He thought he did, which is why he dialed, but like usual, his mind is wavering in between the options again. He forgets Harry’s on the other line waiting for him to speak until Harry’s voice comes through again.

“Louis?”

Louis knows it’s now or never. He lets go of his breath and, “I wanted to know if you wanted to come out with me tonight to a basketball game,” Louis says far too quickly it sounds unnatural, and Harry’s line goes silent and Louis feels dumb. He thinks this is the part where Harry tells Louis he’s already moved on, found someone who will marry him, and Louis’ whole world falls apart along with his heart.

“Okay, yeah,” Harry finally speaks, catching Louis completely by surprise, “I’m guessing it’s gonna be here, in the city. So, pick me up?” Harry asks casually and Louis feels a lot lighter than he did seconds ago.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll pick you up,” Louis replies, raking his fingers through his hair in relief. He’s smiling again, like a complete goof, and he has no intention of stopping himself. Because Harry said yes, no hard time involved, though Louis wouldn’t be able to blame him if there was. And tonight is happening, it’s actually happening.

“Okay,” there’s a smile in Harry’s voice, it’s obvious.

“Okay,” Louis hopes his is just as obvious.

Silence.

“Time?” Harry asks and Louis thinks ‘oh, right.’

“Oh, um,” he lifts his left hand where his tickets are. He squints his eyes as he looks for the time printed in very small font on the already small tickets. He finally finds it, “seven. But I should be there by like, six or something”

Harry laughs again, “so, six thirty”

Louis can still hear the smile in Harry’s voice, and it makes the one on his face grow, “don’t be a bugger”

“It wouldn’t be like me if I wasn’t being one”

Louis thinks it’s so true, it stings.

“Yeah,” Louis whispers and they’re silent again.

“See you tonight?”

“See you tonight,” Louis smiles a bit longer than needed, and waits for Harry to hang up first. After a couple of seconds Harry does, and Louis lays down staring up at his ceiling again, letting what he just did dawn upon him. He’s taking Harry out tonight. Him and Harry. Out. Tonight. Together. It’s like a date. It _is_ a date. He should be more distressed seeing as it’s their first date in four months, but instead his face is hurting from smiling so much. Smiling like he’s a teenager again and can’t get the grin off his face for the life of him, caring only for the person who’s responsible for putting it there. And maybe that’s one thing Louis loves about Harry. He makes him feel young, and alive, and like his biggest care in the world is being out of cereal. Louis feels like through time, he’s lost some of that feeling, and with Harry, it all comes back.

He picks up his phone and types Zayn’s name into his text messages.

 _‘If tonight ends horribly, I blame you for an eternal life of sadness that lies ahead of me,’_ he texts him. A message comes in minutes later.

 _‘Proud of you,’_ is all it reads.

 

**

                Louis picks Harry up at exactly six thirty seven. He calls, telling him he’s outside, and two minutes later Harry is walking out, looking completely breath-taking and making Louis feel completely under dressed. He scolds himself, because he should’ve known. Harry’s bigger on fashion than he lets on, and way bigger on it than Louis.

                They’re going to a fucking basketball game for Christ’s sake, and yet, Harry is dressed like they’re going out to some fancy dinner. He’s wearing a black button up, that is not buttoned all the way up, exposing his chest and tattoos and rising the temperature just a bit in Louis’ car. Over his blouse, he’s got a black blazer, and to top it off he’s got on his signature black skinnies that hug him in all the right places and damn glitter boots on his feet that only he could pull off. All the while Louis barely bothered to put on clothes, throwing over a clean black shirt with a funky design and lettering that reads ‘love will tear us apart’ (not _at all_ in relation to his current life or anything) and some black skinny jeans. He kind of tried on his hair, knowing ever since he let it grow out the way Harry likes it styled now days. But that’s about it and Louis just feels so unprepared for the night ahead of him already.

                Harry climbs in the car, all limbs and small smiles. Louis is smiling back, at only the mere sight of Harry and the small space between them. He thinks it’s crazy and he doesn’t understand how he went from being hostile around Harry to being completely smitten. He doesn’t have a clue of how or when it happened. He thinks It could be the shift of atmosphere. None of them are drunk now and this isn’t an unexpected reunion, it was planned and agreed to by both of them. But he also thinks that it may be his recent realization of Harry not being the problem, of never having been the problem. It’s always been Louis.

                He starts the drive immediately, trying to avoid awkward ‘hi’s’ that he’s not used to with Harry. Usually their ‘hi’s’ were simple. A kiss on the lips that was too quick or sometimes (most times) too long for just a ‘hi.’

                They’re quiet, as Louis drives to the stadium with the radio off and the heater on. He doesn’t want the night to be silent, at all, but he’s not sure what to say. And evidently, neither does Harry. Louis tries first date clichés for change.

                “You look really nice,” Louis decides, looking to his mirrors to avoid looking over to Harry, “I like the boots,” and it doesn’t feel very natural, or like them at all, but it seems to work out for the most part.

                Harry chuckles a bit, “thanks. My mom gave them to me as a present”

                They’re silent again, because Louis doesn’t really know what to say after that.

Harry speaks again, “you look really nice too. I feel a bit overdressed in comparison”

                Louis bites his tongue. Any other day Louis’ reply would’ve been really forward, teasing Harry about just how over dressed he actually is. But today is not like any other day and instead Louis settles with something playful, but mild.

                “Just a bit,” he shrugs, “but there is no dress code for a game. It’s pretty free range,” he looks over to Harry, who’s looking back at Louis. They share a smile, and Louis thinks that if they’ve been together for over ten minutes without arguing, maybe the night won’t end so badly like all their other ones thus far.

 

**

                Louis drives around the back when they arrive, trying to avoid paparazzi. But it’s pretty futile, seeing as there are paparazzi everywhere, expecting celebrities to attend and hoping for that million dollar photo. There aren’t too many in the back though and Louis and Harry are able to walk by them without being seriously harassed.

                They walk side by side, but not holding hands. Louis ducks his head and Harry does the same, things they’ve just learned to do while being in the spotlight, and Louis tries to ignore all the gasps and all the questions being shamelessly thrown their way.

                _“Are you two back together?”_

_“Does this mean Larry is back on?”_

_“Are you taking Harry home tonight, Louis?”_

_“we thought you were getting too old, Louis!”_

Louis ignores all but the last and before entering the building, shoots that specific paparazzi the bird. He knows it’ll make headlines and he knows he’s already got a pretty rough reputation as a straight ass and that’ll really just add to it. But he doesn’t care because tonight isn’t for problems or worrying and, if he’s honest, that pap deserved it for being a loud mouth twat.

                Harry gives Louis a shy smile when they’re inside and away from all the attention, that tells Louis all the words Harry won’t say, doesn’t dare to say in order to not butcher their night before it’s even started. Louis wants to hold him, hug him, kiss him even, make everything better like he used to. But instead he just rubs Harry’s arm a bit, awkwardly, and says, “Come on,” guiding him to their seats.

Harry looks impressed when they’re sat basically right on the actually court and Louis smiles triumphal. At least he’s managed to get some things right tonight.

                “Really good seats,” Harry boasts, looking around to the rest of the crowd.

                “What did you think? Tommo doesn’t do anything if it’s not done right,” Louis says, calling over one of the men walking up and down the aisles to order two beers.

                Harry laughs and looks over at Louis ordering his beer, “oh, no thanks. Just water for me,” he tells the man who eyes them carefully, now confused as to what their order actually is.

                Louis gives Harry look, about to make a mean comment about Harry being a buzz kill for ordering water, and then doesn’t, remembering he can’t ruin tonight. He stays quiet instead.

                “So, a beer and a water then?” the man asks them both, looking from Harry to Louis.

                Louis nods, “yeah. Thanks, man”

                The man walks away and Louis looks straight ahead, to where the players are warming up on the court. He tries not to let it get to him. Tries not to let the thought of not knowing Harry at all anymore only after four months get him depressed and upset. But it’s hard, because Louis ordered him a beer, like he always used to, and Harry wanted water. _Water_. Since when? He gets a bit fidgety in his seat, trying to draw back all the worries he has filling his mind, all the worries about not knowing Harry at all anymore, about Harry being someone else entirely to who Louis left him as.

                And like if Harry’s reading his mind, he leans in to Louis and says, “I’ve had an upset stomach the past couple of days. Think it’s that roll I ate two nights ago at some sushi bar with my mom”

                Louis doesn’t let out a sigh of relief, because he doesn’t want to be painfully obvious, though it really just feels that way. Like a big sigh of relief. He plays it cool and asks, “How’s your mum?”

                Harry backs away a bit, getting comfortable in his seat, and Louis wants to pull him right back in.

                “She’s good. Yours?”

                “Old,” Louis jokes and Harry laughs again. It’s a nice sound. Louis has missed it so much. He hopes he can hear it more than enough times tonight to have replaying in his mind forever.

                Louis’ beer arrives along with Harry’s water. Louis takes out his wallet to pay quickly, before Harry even has a chance of interjecting, because he knows Harry will, and then proceeds to grab their beverages and hands Harry’s over.

                Harry grabs it slowly, “thanks,” he says just as slowly.

                Louis nods, a small smile on his lips because at least he was still right about that one, “always”

**

                The game is going well, not just the score or anything, but Louis’ time with Harry. They’ve been leaning in to each other all night, making awful jokes about the players, laughing incredibly loud, so much so that Harry has had to bring his hand over to his mouth to keep quiet too many times to count.

                In a way, it feels like the them that Louis’ heart and soul has wanted back for so long. But Louis can’t ignore that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, the one that has him wanting to do more than simply laughing Harry off every time he makes an awful joke. The one that begs him to hold Harry’s hand instead, kiss his cheek lightly like he used to but at the same time reminds him he’s lost that privilege. The feeling shoves the reality right in Louis’ face. That although things feel good, they are not the same.

                Through his whirl winding emotions, Louis picks up his third beer of the night, while Harry still has not had even one, trying his best to drown down all his fears. He looks around for a moment, trying to relax, and notices the kiss cam come on. Automatically, Louis points it out to Harry because he knows how much of a sap Harry is for all that stuff. He’s not wrong, seeing as Harry’s eyes light up as couple after couple come on the big screen and share kisses ranging from subtle to sloppy. It’s another thing that hasn’t changed about Harry, another thing that keeps that nagging feeling on the sidelines, if only for a while.

                Harry looks intently at all the smooches being shared on the big screen, and laughs at one where the guy skips the girl sitting next to him and lunges straight to smooch the other guy sitting opposite of the girl in between them. The other guy doesn’t even seem surprised and kisses back just as roughly. Louis laughs along, hiding his overwhelming smile with the back of his hand, because yeah, that was just ridiculous human behavior.

                They’re both distracted, looking up at the screen with kiddy smiles, laughing and commenting, when all of a sudden they’re the ones on the screen. It takes a moment for Louis to register what’s happening, and when he does his stomach falls, along with his smile, and the announcer is saying over the fluffy elevator music playing in the background,

                “And now for a special kiss between two very special boys, Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles, here tonight. Congrats boys,” and Louis is paralyzed. He’s unsure and nervous and has no idea how to handle the situation. Of course he wants to kiss Harry, but this isn’t the time or place. At least, he’s pretty sure it’s not.

                Louis knows all eyes are on them and some people have already started clapping. Louis wonders what in the world possessed him to think that coming out to such a public place was a good idea.

                He looks around a bit, before turning to Harry, who doesn’t look nearly as panicked as Louis does. Before he can decide on anything, Harry is deciding for him, pulling Louis face to his, one hand on one of his cheeks and his lips on the other, wet and loud. The crowd awe’s and the screen turns off.

                Once they’re no longer the center of attention, Harry pulls his lips away gently, and they travel to Louis’ ear, letting hot breaths fan over it, “you’re welcome,” he whispers and then pulls away all together. Louis hopes he hasn’t offended Harry, but given the look on Harry’s face, he thinks he hasn’t. He smiles too, and swats Harry’s thigh with the back of his hand playfully. He looks down then, and thinks if he wants the nagging feeling to go away, he has to do something about it himself. He pats Harry’s thigh, then squeezes, then lets his hand rest there for the rest of the night. A familiar touch amongst the two.  

               

**

                The drive home is real different from the drive to the game. They’re talking, laughing, making jokes, the same way they were at the arena. The light mood and twinkling atmosphere follows them from the arena to the car and Louis is thankful for that.

They sing along loudly to Louis’ Christmas CD he left in his radio the week before. Louis sings completely off key and Harry sounds Godly, and although maybe he should be embarrassed, he can’t bother to be. In fact, he thinks he never wants the moment to end.  Louis thinks he can see himself twenty-years older, doing exactly this with Harry, and only Harry. Because Louis is so much in love with Harry that he can’t even imagine himself loving anyone else, sharing these kind of moments with anyone else.

                The car ride, although fun, is quick, too quick. Before Louis is even aware, he’s pulling up to Harry’s lot, about to end the night and drop him off. In a couple of seconds, there’s going to be no more putting off what Louis has been putting off all night, the sole reason Louis even invited Harry out tonight at all. The realization slaps itself on Louis with a loud clap and the atmosphere automatically shifts.

                The laughing dies down, and then there is a silence falling over them that hasn’t fallen over them all night and Louis hates it but has no idea how to avoid it. He settles his car next to Harry’s range rover and slowly, puts his car on park.

                They’re quiet for a couple of more seconds, the only noise left being the wind howling outside. Louis doesn’t know how to bring it up, doesn’t even know if he wants to. They’ve had such a good night, their first night out together in four freaking months, and Louis doesn’t want to ruin it with his unrehearsed, all-over-the-place monologue addressing all their unresolved issues they managed to set aside tonight.

                He looks over at Harry, who’s fiddling his thumbs in his lap. Louis can tell Harry has no idea what to do either, is at a loss for words. He may be nineteen, old enough to take care of himself, and arguably a bit more mature than Louis, but Louis is reminded, watching Harry twiddle his thumbs right beside him, that Harry is still Louis’ baby and sometimes, Louis really needs to pack on the weight for the both of them.

                He takes a deep breath, “I drove okay didn’t I?”

                Harry looks up and to Louis, he smiles and Louis mirrors him.

                “For someone who had four beers, yeah. You drove alright,” he shrugs like he’s innocent, doesn’t know he’s completely messing with Louis.

                “Don’t be a bugger,” Louis says, reaching over to pinch Harry’s nipple out of habit. Harry shies away, giggling uncontrollably, and the image is so familiar to Louis, he wishes it would’ve just stayed like that forever. That their relationship would’ve never become a tangled, complicated, mess that Louis is scared isn’t fixable anymore.

                The laughter dies out again and Louis is left with a choice. He looks at Harry, the faint smile still ghosted on his lips and he knows, just knows, tonight’s not the night. Zayn will be disappointed, Louis maybe even so, but he doesn’t want to ruin it. He won’t let himself ruin yet another great thing.

                “I’m glad we had a good time,” he says, getting ready for the goodbye that follows.

                Harry looks over again, “who said I had a good time?”

                Harry laughs and Louis rolls his eyes, smiling all the same, “you were out with me. If you’re out with me, a good time is just the standard”

                Harry nods sarcastically and Louis scoffs.

                “Well,” it’s coming, “I _did_ have a good time. No standards involved”

                Louis nods, not quite looking at Harry, not quite knowing if he’s able to, “good”

                Louis feels heavy, really heavy, because their nights never end this awkward, never end this quiet. And it just sucks that it’s simply the way things are now.

                As Louis sulks, he feels Harry’s hands come around him awkwardly, pulling into a semi-hug (the only thing they can manage in Louis’ small car.) Louis tries to hug him hard back, but with such a confined space, he’s sure he’s failed.

                They hold on for a couple of seconds, before letting go. Louis smiles and Harry does too, and then Harry is climbing out of his car and Louis doesn’t allow himself to watch him go. It’s too much, far too much, and Harry is so easy to please, so easy to love. He didn’t even question Louis once about tonight which is a big contradictory to Louis, who has been thinking about what tonight means all fucking night. He sighs, bumping his head on his steering wheel in frustration and letting it rest there in defeat.

                He’s about to drive off, go hate himself somewhere that isn’t Harry’s lot, when he hears the car door open and then there’s Harry climbing back in his car and for the first time tonight, Harry looks as confused and restless as Louis’ been feeling. Louis knew it, knew things went way too smoothly to be left like that. Louis is never in the clear, and as much as he thought he almost got away with tonight not being discussed, of course he didn’t.

                “What exactly was tonight?” Harry asks adamantly, not looking to Louis. “What is a date?” he scrunches his face up and pushes his hair further back and Louis can finally see it’s been bugging him all night too and that he just wants to know, as much as Louis wants to know, what it all means for them.

                Louis sighs, “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, “I think? I’m not sure”

                Harry looks at Louis finally, and Louis looks back, a bit scared of what he finds. Harry looks—angry maybe? And Louis doesn’t want this to turn into an argument, doesn’t want it to be the way they have been for months. But he thinks it might be inevitable.

                “You’re not sure?” Harry raises his eyebrow.

                “No?” Louis replies timidly and really? When the fuck is Louis ever timid? He hates Harry Styles so much. For making him be all sorts of things Louis never imagined he could be.

                “Then why did you invite me out tonight? What was the purpose of all this?” Harry gestures to nothing, and although he’s not yelling, because Harry’s morbid tone never allows him to really sound angry, Louis can tell Harry is pretty angry. Louis’ single handedly screwed everything up again and this time, he doesn’t even have an idea of how.

                “To,” Louis knows why but for some reason, is not saying everything he should, “I don’t know, go out?”

                Harry huffs, he actually huffs, and Louis wants to kick himself in the face for being so dumb.

                “So, you break up with me, don’t speak to me for four months even when I make an effort, and when you do respond to my advances it’s only to insult me and discredit our love and our relationship, and then, you just, you randomly decide to call me, take me to a basketball game, have me swoon over you all night, all because you just wanted to go out?” and when Harry says it like that, Louis can see how ridiculous it all sounds and how much of an asshole Louis must look like to Harry. And he should be making it better, but instead, he’s just quiet.

                “I don’t buy it,” Harry finally says, looking hard at Louis.

                Louis is reeling, seriously going insane with emotion on the inside. He wants to let it all out, even if it comes out horribly wrong, but he’s still on the outside, not speaking and barely moving. Until he sees Harry open his mouth again, and he cracks.

                “I don’t know, Harry! Okay? Because I miss you, because I miss you so fucking much. I miss you almost as much as I love you and that is just a stupid, incredulous amount. And I’ve got all these ideas about you and me and then I have all these ideas that contradict all those ideas and I’ve really got no idea what to fucking do or think anymore”

                It feels kind of good to let it all out, though that’s not really all of it. It feels good to not have to hold it in, to not have it all just be hidden and secret. He’s breathing heavy, focusing his eyes on his steering wheel and steering wheel only.

                “Why did it change? Your ideas about us, I mean. You used to be so convinced about us and then—”

                “Because Harry,” Louis takes a deep breath, “I know you hate when I bring up the age thing, but the truth is I’m not getting any younger. Yes, I’m not old, but I’m not a kid anymore. I want to start a life with someone, that someone being you. I want to have kids, and name them ridiculous names that both our mom’s would disapprove of. I want to buy a really big house, with space that we won’t even know what to do what with.  But you don’t. You don’t want that, and there were just so many fucking issues that developed because of that”

                “Of course I do, Louis. I want all of that and more and only with _you,_ ” Harry’s voice is gentle in response and doesn’t really make Louis feel any better, if he’s honest.

                “But,” and there is why, “I don’t want to do all that as just your boyfriend. I want to be more than that if I’m going to act like I’m more than that”

                And then Louis says something he doesn’t expect himself to reply with, “I know”

                Harry is as surprised as Louis, given the look on his face.

                “You know?”

                Louis sighs, passes his hands through his hair, tugging lightly, then putting them down with a little slap on his thighs, “yes, Harry, I know. Which is why I left in the first place”

                Harry looks displeased with Louis’ answer and Louis can’t blame him. It’s disappointing.

                “I guess you haven’t changed your mind then,” he says lowly.

                “I don’t know,” Louis replies just as lowly.

                “You don’t seem to know a lot lately,” Harry says, frustration clear in his voice.

                “I know!” Louis kind of yells, knowing he sounds like a total nitwit every time he replies with ‘I don’t know.’

                Louis rubs his face with his hands before saying, “Harry,” he exhales, “I don’t want to lie to you and tell you that I’ve suddenly seen some kind of light, changed my mind, and plan on asking you to marry me tomorrow. Because that’s not true. I haven’t changed my mind and I haven’t figured out the solution to all of it, all our problems and such. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the way things are. But, I do know that I love you, and that I don’t want to give up on us anymore, the way I did four months ago. Because really, all I want is to spend the rest of my forever with you”

                “Then why not just marry me, Louis? You’re already willing to make that kind of commitment,” Harry replies immediately, leaving Louis to feel like he didn’t hear all of what Louis’ just said.

                “The same can be said for the counter argument, Harry. I’m making that kind of commitment so why do I need to marry you?” Louis looks over, to a Harry that he can tell is coming up with a convincing answer in his head. Louis doesn’t want to hear it.

 “Harry, look. I just—I don’t like what marriage does to people. Yes, that sounds awfully cliché, but it’s true. Marriages changes something in people, it makes them view their relationship as something else entirely. It becomes all about a piece of paper, and not about the actual love or people in the marriage keeping them together. I never want you to like, love me because you’re married to me, or stick around because you’re married to me. If ten years down the line you still love me, I want it to be because I’m me and you want that, still thrive for it. If ten years down the line you don’t love me, I don’t want you to feel trapped or obligated to stay with me. And I definitely don’t want marriage to change the way we think our relationship should work. I want us to keep thinking of us and the way we handle ourselves the same and I just—I think it’ll all change if we get married”

                Louis is proud of himself, for getting that out there and not sounding like a complete idiot or a complete ass. And though that was success, he doesn’t think the rest of the talk will go just as right.

                “Louis,” Harry reaches for Louis’ hand on Louis’ lap, holding it tightly, “marriage is not the same for everyone, and it doesn’t have the same affect on everyone. Getting married won’t mean changing Louis and Harry into something else, into something foreign.  It’ll just be a reminder of forever, a special kind of bond”

                Louis shakes his head, “why can’t our love be our reminder? Why does it have to be all about a stupid piece of paper?”

                Harry sighs, but doesn’t let Louis’ hand go, “It’s not just a stupid piece of paper to me. We grew up with different ideas about marriage. I was always taught that marriage is the greatest act of love, the biggest promise. Of course, it can be broken, like any other kind of promise. But, with that being said, it’s also a big promise and it’s supposed to mean a lot about two people and their love when they commit to that promise. I want us to have that promise because I feel like our love is worth it,” Harry whispers, “plus, I think it’d be great to take your last name. Don’t you?”

                Louis looks at him, and damn Harry. He has a really faint smile on his lips and it’s contagious. Louis is starting to smile too and then Harry’s grows and Louis wants to punch him so they can just stop being so in love for a second.

 He understands Harry, in a way. He knows they grew up in different households that held different morals and because of this, it made it so difficult for them to continue their relationship. It unraveled more and more issues, until Louis couldn’t take it anymore. But Louis doesn’t know if he can ever think like Harry or if Harry can ever think like Louis. And that’s really where all their problems lay. That is the stem. They are two different heads that may never morph into one.

                “Yes,” Louis says, “but no. Yes, in essence it’s cool, it’s fucking beautiful. But I just don’t know, Harry. It’s not that simple”

                Louis looks at their hands together. Big and small, Louis and Harry. He wants them forever, but he has no idea how to keep them.

                Louis is looking down and then Harry’s hand is pulling away, leaving his empty. Just at the loss of contact, Louis feels a part of him missing again. His hand seems odd without Harry, like every other piece of himself. Never does it feel right when it’s just him.

                “It never is, is it?,” Harry says, his voice low and shaky. Louis doesn’t want Harry to cry. This is not the way he wanted the night to end.

                “Harry, please, understand. I love you, and I want to be with you for life times to come but,” he doesn’t finish. He’s sure Harry knows the rest.

                “I know, Louis, I know,” he says, his voice so small, “but,” and Louis’ heart cracks, “just like you have your needs, I have mine,” he looks over at Louis, eyes glossy, “and I don’t want either of us to settle”

                It feels like a final goodbye and no, Louis can’t have this be their final goodbye.

                “I want to give you some time to figure it out. If you do, and it ends up being something we can talk over, something that is compromising, you call me again. If it’s not, if it’s still this, still unchangeable and unfixable, just,” Harry looks away, “don’t call”

                Louis doesn’t know what to say. He feels like he has no words left. Harry takes a moment to himself, and then he’s getting out of the car. Louis lets himself watch Harry go this time, because he’s not sure if it’ll be the last time he does.

 

**

                The thing is that he’s played a terrible game and Louis has no idea what’s going on in that head of his. He’s supposed to be co-captain for Christ’s sake, he’s supposed to be the leading example, and here he is unable to make a damn goal, getting injured very early on and having to sit the rest of the game out. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad any other day or game, but it happens to be the biggest game of the year, one he’s been waiting for all year, and here he is royally fucking it up.

                “Fuck!” Louis yells obscenely, at no one, because he’s laying down by himself in an empty locker room, his leg wrapped and his chest caving in on him with emotion. He’s so upset, with himself, with the universe for hating him and never letting anything go his way. He’s upset and annoyed and truly exhausted with it all.

                Just when he’s about to be grateful for at least being alone, because Louis is much better at calming his own self down, he hears footsteps coming down the empty hallway. He grunts, and puts his arm over his eyes to shield them from anyone and everything.

                He feels someone come in and he’s about to tell whoever it is to go away, when they speak, and Louis sits right up at the sound of that voice.

                “You don’t _look_ so bad”

                Louis meets Harry’s eyes, and blinks a couple of times, because he hasn’t called Harry, not since that night, and he has no idea why Harry would come otherwise and be standing right in front of him. It takes Louis a moment to realize he’s not just hallucinating, and that Harry is really here.

                “Harry?”

                Harry looks down at himself, “yes,” he replies, a teasing smile on, and a care-free attitude that says ‘hey, who cares that I’m here?’ and then he’s walking over to Louis, looking down to his injured and wrapped up leg.

                “How’re you feeling?” he asks, his voice suddenly not as playful. He grazes his fingertips on the injury, softly and all so Harry like.

                Louis is so, so, lost.

                “Okay,” he manages to say steadily through all his mixed emotions.

                Harry lets out a breath that sounds like he’s been holding in for a very long while, “thank God. That looked like a tough hit. I was worried. I wanted to wait ‘til the game was over to surprise you but—I just couldn’t”

                Louis feels his heart contract at Harry’s words. It’s a bit too much, but Louis forces himself to face it.

                “You came,” his voice sounds as broken as he feels.

                Harry looks at Louis, “it was all you’d talk about for the past year. It was a bit hard to forget about it. Of course I came”

                Louis feels like throwing up again. Throwing up and crying. Because he hasn’t called Harry, not yet, and here he is anyway, supporting and caring for him. Louis doesn’t know who thought he was deserving enough of Harry Styles, but he’s glad that whoever did, did.  

                “Thank you,” Louis whispers, “for coming, and supporting me, even when you no longer have any obligation to”

                Harry looks at Louis kindly, and then he’s sitting down next to him and Louis scoots over to make space. Louis tries to sit up better, though he can’t really bend his knee because of his injury, and it’s causing serious strain on his arms to just keep himself up that way.

                Harry notices, “You can lay down if you like. I didn’t come in to disturb your recovery”

                Louis laughs a bit, broken and not quite at all genuine, and takes Harry’s words as a green light because although he wants to bathe in Harry’s company, he barely has any kind of energy left. He lays back down, looking up at Harry.

                Without warning, Harry runs his hands through Louis’ sweaty hair and Louis closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

                “I’m real dirty and sweaty,” Louis sheepishly says, warning Harry out of courtesy, but not really wanting him to stop.

                Harry doesn’t take his hand away.

                “I don’t mind,” and Louis hums because this is Harry, his Harry, he would never mind anything when it comes to Louis. Even in the last couple of months of their relationship, when Louis could barely recognize the two of them through all their fights, Harry was always patient, and kind, and lovely to Louis for the most part. Louis loves that, as much as he doesn’t get why, and Harry should mind so much more than he does, he’s so thankful that Harry doesn’t and never has, even at their worst times.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes, sitting in a comfortable silence as Louis ignores the pain in his leg and enjoys the feeling Harry is causing to course through his body as he plays with his hair.

                “I hope you know I’ll always be here. Official relationship or not, I’ll be here for you when you need me,” Harry says and Louis opens his eyes slowly to meet Harry’s gaze which is sad and painful to watch.

                He sits up a bit, supporting his weight on his elbows, Harry’s hand leaving his hair. He looks all over Harry’s face, thinking about just how beautiful he is and just how sad Louis’ made him. He’s about to say something, anything, but Harry beats him to it.

                “I mean,” and then a single tear falls and Harry looks down at his lap, “I love you, yeah? A lot. I’ve always loved you and I just—I never want to stop loving you like this. I never want to not be with you, I never want to not be here for you, Louis. It’s about to be five months and I still keep feeling  like I’m growing a big black hole where my heart’s supposed to be, because you’re not around to color it whole,” he sniffs and then lets out a broken chuckle, “it’s kind of bad, isn’t it? That I need you so much to be happy, but there is no denying it. I need you to be happy. You are happiness for me, even when you’re yelling or being all angry, I am only truly happy when you are around”

                Harry looks up at Louis, nose and cheeks flushed, eyes red and puffy, and face all wet from the tears that have grown heavy. Louis knows there’s so much he needs to say, so much he needs to assure Harry of, but Louis isn’t Harry and his words never come out just right. His words never make sense, and they never really escapade what he’s really feeling. Louis is much better at showing, not telling. So, he does just that. With no hesitation, he picks himself up, and he grabs Harry’s face with his hands, softly grazing his thumb through his cheek before gently pressing their lips together with care and ease.

                It’s electric, and it’s everything Louis has been in need of since Harry left his life. He feels something in him ignite, something he thought was long gone, and he thinks it’s pretty incredible that a simple kiss can bring back so much feeling.

                Harry is kissing Louis just as hungrily as Louis is kissing Harry, like if he’s feeling the exact same raging emotion from the intimate contact. It goes from sweet to heated in seconds and Louis’ fingers curl around Harry’s ringlets, fisting them tightly. He forgets about the pain in his knee and leg and somehow manages to climb on Harry’s lap, straddling him and kissing him like if he was to pull away, all air would be cut off from his lungs.

                Suddenly, Harry does pull away.

                “Louis,” he says, a bit out of breath and Louis knew it was too good to be true. He knows this is the part where Harry thinks better of it and Louis is left empty and shattered.

                “Your leg,” Harry finishes and Louis realizes what he’s talking about and it’s got nothing to do with what Louis originally thought. He begins to laugh, actually laugh, and he slumps down on Harry, burying his face in the crook of his neck because Harry is unbelievable. In a good way.

                “Can’t even feel a thing,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s neck, kissing it softly.

                Harry wraps his arms around Louis, holding him like a child. Though Louis is older, he’s always been smaller than Harry and he’s always slotted into him like a perfect fit. They’re both sat quietly, panting a bit like they’ve just worked out.

                “That was great,” Harry finally says, nuzzling his nose in Louis’ dirty hair. Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s waist.

                “Yeah,” Louis breathes, “it was”

                They sit like that again, just listening to each other breathe, until Harry pulls at Louis’ jersey and Louis knows that this time Harry wants to really talk. He groans, loud and like he does every time it’s bright and early and Louis is forced out of bed when he absolutely doesn’t want to be.

                He feels the vibrations of Harry’s laugh, “Lou,” he says more seriously, “we need to talk”

                And Louis knows they do. Of course they do. A kiss can only fix so much. But Louis still doesn’t  have an answer for Harry, especially not the one he wants. He feels awful about it, about not having made up his mind. But Louis’ never been good at that. He eventually gives in, pulling back reluctantly and only enough to be far away from Harry where he can stare at him and not be cross eyed.

                Harry breathes, “I need you to know that I’m not settling,”

                Louis feels split in half already and Harry’s barely said the words yet. He holds on to Harry a bit tighter, convinced it’ll be the last time he can hold him at all.

 “I just think being with anyone else, or trying to be with anyone else, would definitely be settling,” and Louis’ grip loosens a bit at the words, and the realization that Harry is going a different direction Louis thought he was, “Because no one does it for me the way you do, Louis. And whatever you want, I’ll give to you, as long as I get to have you. I’ll do it all for you and for me. Even if I don’t have the answers to so many of our problems, I’ll go to the ends of the earth to find them. Because I want to move in with you, I want to start looking at adopting agencies with you, I want to do it all with you, Louis, even if that means I’ll never take your last name, and I know that’s really where the problems come from anyways. You were right, when you said all that you did. We can’t just stay where we are forever, we have to move forward. Moving in, having kids, is how we will, and we can do all that even if we’re not married. Honestly, I don’t even care about that anymore. Suddenly, that detail is so small in comparison to all the rest.  If you’ll give me your heart, your soul, and your body, it all means the same”

                Louis feels like something in him has gone away and been replaced with Harry’s words and all their meaning put together. It’s been an awful five months without Harry, and he never thought it would end on decent terms. But it’s ending, right here, right now, Harry has put an end to his misery and he’s decided to do it in the simplest way possible: by succumbing to Louis. And Louis should object, because he really doesn’t deserve Harry at all, no piece of him does, but he doesn’t. Instead, it’s his turn to cry, and he doesn’t let the moment pass.

He kisses Harry again, tears and all, really softly, before pulling back only inches, and saying, “you’re sure?” because he never wants to deprive Harry of a life of fulfillment no matter how much he wants and needs him. He never wants to take anything away.

Harry nods, “yes”

Louis opens his mouth to ask again and Harry puts a finger out to stop him from saying anything. They smile at each other and Harry kisses him again, slow but quick.

Louis gets it and then pulls back, “I love you so much, so much more than I’m capable of handling responsibly. But I’ll try for you, because I never want to be without you again, even for a second,” he promises.

Harry smiles, rubbing his nose against Louis’, wet with tears too, “let’s go home”

 

**

                They don’t tell the media they’re back together immediately, avoiding the questions in all interviews and press conferences. They keep it mostly to themselves, without actually keeping it to themselves.

 If they’re out, Louis won’t hesitate to hold Harry’s hand, or give him a peck on the lips when Harry does something absurdly adorable, even if there are paps and tons of witnesses around. They just don’t bother addressing it straight on. Louis doesn’t care what people are saying about them, doesn’t care what people are assuming about them, and doesn’t care to explain to the world what they’ll never understand. Things aren’t perfect between them, but they’re good, and really, all he cares about is having Harry again. The void in his heart and soul was never so obvious until Harry came back to fill it. Now that Louis knows both feelings, there’s only one he wants to hold on to forever.

                They work on moving in together, slowly and surely. They want something perfect, something that fits their personalities just right. There’s no rush, really. Since the break up and make up, Louis and Harry have become more inseparable than ever. Even after long games, Louis drives over to the city to spend the night and all his free days with Harry at his flat. And even after Harry has long recording sessions, or concerts, he makes room for Louis, and only Louis (which really pleases Louis to know Nick is barely ever mentioned, because he’s not needed anymore) right after.  But of course, nothing quite compares to living together, so they don’t just set it aside, but rather work hard on it, here and there, for the next three months.

                Finally, after going too way too many open houses, they come across a quiet home in London, with a backyard that can be remodeled to whatever they’d like, a cozy chimney, and so much space Louis and Harry think they’ll spend more money on furniture, trying to fill up all the vast space, than on the actual home. It’s right though, for them. They want something permanent, not something they’ll eventually get bored of and have to sell. They want something like them, like what they have, and when they walk in on a windy Sunday afternoon, Louis can just feel it, that the house is just _it_.

                They’re meant to close a week later. Coincidentally, it’s one of the biggest weeks for Louis. He has three shoots and two important football matches, both of which Harry attends. Harry’s week is okay, with some recordings here and there, and one interview or so. Besides that, Harry finds himself with some free time, so he’s the one dealing with the paper work while Louis deals with everything else.

                “Sorry I’ve been so preoccupied with all this. I wish I was more involved, especially when we’re so close,” Louis says into the phone, as designers pinch and poke him with needles and pins, adjusting his wardrobe to his specific body shape.

                “It’s okay, babe, really. It’s only to look over some boring paperwork anyway” Harry says, and Louis knows he means it, but he still feels guilty. He doesn’t want Harry to think he’s backing out last minute, rethinking it and distancing himself from the situation because he’s having second thoughts.

                Louis sighs, knowing he needs to hang up soon.

                “Yeah, alright. I love you. Call me with the details later?”

                “Sure thing,” Harry says, “Love you, beautiful”

                They hang up and luckily, Louis is also all done being used as a mannequin. His eyes meet Zayn’s, who’s across the room and walking over to him, two cups of coffee in his hands, and a stupid grin on his face. He hands over Louis’ coffee when he reaches him. Louis rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what Zayn’s thinking.

                “Does he have any idea?”

                “No,” Louis takes a sip of his coffee, and it’s warm, just what he needs, “that’s the point isn’t it?”

                He steps down from where he is standing and makes his way over to grab another set of clothes.  Zayn follows closely behind.

                “Man, this is going to be good. How do you feel?”

                “Like throwing up if you keep talking about it like that,” Louis answers honestly. Zayn laughs. The nerve he has.

                Louis whips around, change of clothes in hand, “I’m serious, Zayn. This is a big thing for me, okay? And I’m not like regretting it, but I’m nervous as hell. And I’m scared, scared that I’ll do something stupid like chicken out or throw up on the spot. That’ll be so embarrassing,” Louis whines, like the dramatic man he is.

                Zayn’s face turns serious and that’s why Louis really likes Zayn. Because Zayn is always what Louis needs him to be.

                “Louis,” he puts one hand on his shoulder, “breathe”

                Louis does.

                “You love Harry and Harry loves you. You’ve worked through so much already. I think he deserves this, but most of all, I think you do”

                Louis dives into Zayn’s arm right then and there, not caring that he’s being emotional and so unlike himself. It’s been a crazy year, and after so much turmoil and heart break, Louis just wants it to end right.

                “You better not forget our deal though,” Zayn says and Louis lets out a shaky laugh.

                “Yeah, yeah,” he pulls away, collecting himself, “whatever”

                Louis pulls away and eyes Zayn carefully, “maybe after all this you can finally tell me what you’ve been putting off to tell me for the past couple of months”

                Zayn’s face doesn’t get past Louis, but he knows it’s not the time or place.

 

**

                He makes it right on time. Harry’s sat down with their realtor inside, done going over all the paper work one very last time, making sure not miss anything presumptuously  important, and finally ready to sign. Louis was caught up in a shoot, having barely to almost no time to change into comfortable clothing, and he barges into the house completely over dressed for the intended occasion/

                For a football player, Louis should not be so out of breathe, panting and acting like he’s never worked out a day in his life. It’s not really that and he knows it. He’s nervous is the thing. Nervous and panicking and quite anxious. He smiles his way through all that as Harry smiles at him, trying to seem normal. It’s enough to do the trick because it’s that warm, loving smile that he wants to wake up to everyday for the rest of his life.

                “So sorry I’m late,” he gives Harry a quick kiss and smiles at Jenny, their realtor. She smiles back.

                “You’re right on time,” Harry says, sitting down and so slightly looking up to Louis, snaking a hand around his waist. Louis moves into his touch, then remembers a small detail, and pulls away. He doesn’t look over to Harry. He doesn’t want to look at his disappointed expression. If he looks over, he knows he’ll give in and do everything much too quickly just to take the pout off Harry’s face.

                “Perfect,” Louis grins wide, “where do I sign?”

                Jenny looks pleased with Louis, for once (it’s clear that her favorite in this whole endeavor has been Harry), and gently pushes the paper across the counter to Louis, “here, here, and here, please,” she says, hovering over the places on the piece of paper he needs to sign and then handing over a pen.

                Louis trusts Harry enough to have read over all the papers thoroughly, not missing anything that can screw them over in the long run. So he signs absent mindedly, without any questions or concerns. He hands her back the pen and she smiles the widest he’s ever seen.

                “Well then,” she pulls out something from her bag, the keys, and hands them over to Harry. He takes it from her, his hands a bit shaky with excitement and nerves.

                “Congratulations boys,” she looks to both of them, “enjoy!”

                She goes quickly then, giving the boys a firm handshake, a couple of compliments that Louis is pretty sure she doesn’t entirely mean, and then grabbing her stuff and going. Louis knows it’s almost time. He finally looks at Harry, who looks happy, but distraught at the same time. Louis knows it’s because of him. He walks over to him again, fitting in between his legs. He smiles, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his heart.

                “Why are you not smiling wider? We just bought a house together. Harry, we’re now officially living together,” Louis smiles and then Harry’s smile grows significantly.

                “Are you happy?” Harry asks timidly. And Louis knows this is it. It’s his time. He pulls away from Harry and then Harry’s smile falls. Louis wants to pick it back up quickly, but he needs to space this out.

                “Yes,” he pauses, “and no”

                Harry raises his eyebrows, trying to keep it together, “no?”

                “This is great, Harry, all of it. We’ve been doing so much better, almost back to how we were when we first got together. And I’m so glad you did this all for me, on my terms, ” Harry looks like he’s about to interrupt, reassure Louis of something, so Louis speaks faster, “but, I never want us to feel unbalanced. I always want us to meet in the middle”

                Louis can tell Harry has no idea where the hell Louis is going with this. He furrows his eyebrows and scratches the back of his head, then runs his fingers through his hair. Louis wants to laugh, but this is supposed to be a serious moment, so he refrains.

                “I wish I was as good at all this as you. But I’m not a song writer, unfortunately. I’m just a football player, with a decent enough ass to get into modeling, and so, I’m sorry if this isn’t always how you imagined it to be,” Louis reaches into his coat’s pocket, watching as Harry’s eyes follow his movements. It takes one, maybe two seconds, and Harry can tell what’s going to happen next. His eyes widen, and his lips part to make a little “o” and Louis already feels like he’s in another world.

                He moves closer to Harry, the little black box in his hand. He looks up to him, Harry’s eyes still on Louis’ hand, and gets down on one knee. Harry puts his hands over his face, trying to cover up all the glee and emotion. Louis doesn’t want him to, but he just keeps going with his part.

                “Harry,” and then Harry removes his hands from his face, he’s crying and it takes everything in Louis not to burst into tears then too.

                “I’ve loved you since I was twenty-two and you were only sixteen. And I knew it then, the same way I know it now, that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Every single second, of every single day, for as long as my heart keeps beating, I want it to beat for you,” he chokes then, letting some tears fall, “which is why I must ask. Will you marry me?” He opens up the box, to show a thick white gold band, that Louis knew Harry would love as soon as he saw it.

                Harry’s sob breaks out and before Louis can register it, Harry is picking him up from the floor and into his arms, a firm grip on his waist and he kisses him, salty and absolutely sweet. They’re both a mess but they’re with each other, and that’s all that really matters, Louis knows it’s all that’s ever mattered. They pull away and Harry nods frantically, unable to speak through the tears. Louis slips the ring into his finger, and it’s a perfect fit, the way Louis suspected.

                They look up at each other once more, not getting enough of it.

                “It’s so perfect, Louis. _You’re_ so perfect,” he grabs Louis’ face and kisses him some more. And they’re pulling away again, gasping for air. They laugh at each other’s obsession with one another and then Harry’s face gets a bit serious.

                “You didn’t like—this isn’t because I pressured you is it? Because Louis I meant what I said three months ago. I’ll still do all of this without being married”

                Louis shakes his head, “I did this because I wanted to, because like I said, I never want one of us giving more than the other. I want both of us to always be equally satisfied. And what satisfies you, Harry, satisfies me. I just,” Louis was hoping to talk about it some other time, but knows it’s best to just get it over with, “I want to marry you, because, well, it’s you, and who else? But, I want to do it with time. I’m still warming up to the idea of actually letting marriage become a part of us, and I just—I don’t want to rush anything,” Louis looks to Harry, hoping Harry isn’t upset that Louis doesn’t want to start looking at chapels first thing tomorrow morning. But Harry doesn’t look upset at all. He looks in love, and in complete fond of Louis.

                “Take all the time you need, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he smiles, pulling Louis’ head to rest on his chest. Louis complies, listening to Harry’s heart beat nice and slow.

                “Promise?”

                “Promise,” Harry pecks his head, “I love you so much, Louis. I’d wait lifetimes for you”

                Louis clutches on to him tighter, “I love you more”

 

                                                                                                                               

 


End file.
